Chapter 3

As for Wringhim himself, he went home to his lodgings, filled with gall
and with spite against the young laird, whom he was made to believe the
aggressor, and that intentionally. But most of all he was filled with
indignation against the father, whom he held in abhorrence at all
times, and blamed solely for this unmannerly attack made on his
favourite ward, namesake, and adopted son; and for the public
imputation of a crime to his own reverence in calling the lad his son,
and thus charging him with a sin against which he was well known to
have levelled all the arrows of church censure with unsparing might.

But, filled as his heart was with some portion of these bad feelings,
to which all flesh is subject, he kept, nevertheless, the fear of the
Lord always before his eyes so far as never to omit any of the external
duties of religion, and farther than that man hath no power to pry. He
lodged with the family of a Mr. Miller, whose lady was originally from
Glasgow, and had been a hearer and, of course, a great admirer of Mr.
Wringhim. In that family he made public worship every evening; and that
night, in his petitions at a throne of grace, he prayed for so many
vials of wrath to be poured on the head of some particular sinner that
the hearers trembled, and stopped their ears. But that he might not
proceed with so violent a measure, amounting to excommunication,
without due scripture warrant, he began the exercise of the evening by
singing the following verses, which it is a pity should ever have been
admitted into a Christian psalmody, being so adverse to all its mild
and benevolent principles:

Set thou the wicked over him,
And upon his right hand
Give thou his greatest enemy,
Even Satan, leave to stand.

And, when by thee he shall be judged,
Let him remembered be;
And let his prayer be turned to sin
When he shall call on thee.

Few be his days; and in his room
His charge another take;
His children let be fatherless;
His wife a widow make:

Let God his father's wickedness
Still to remembrance call;
And never let his mother's sin
Be blotted out at all.

As he in cursing pleasure took
So let it to him fall;
As he delighted not to bless,
So bless him not at all.

As cursing he like clothes put on,
Into his bowels so,
Like water, and into his bones
Like oil, down let it go.

Young Wringhim only knew the full purport of this spiritual song; and
went to his bed better satisfied than ever that his father and brother
were castaways, reprobates, aliens from the Church and the true faith,
and cursed in time and eternity.

The next day George and his companions met as usual--all who were not
seriously wounded of them. But, as they strolled about the city, the
rancorous eye and the finger of scorn was pointed against them. None of
them was at first aware of the reason; but it threw a damp over their
spirits and enjoyments, which they could not master. They went to take
a forenoon game at their old play of tennis, not on a match, but by way
of improving themselves; but they had not well taken their places till
young Wringhim appeared in his old station, at his brother's right
hand, with looks more demure and determined than ever. His lips were
primmed so close that his mouth was hardly discernible, and his dark
deep eye flashed gleams of holy indignation on the godless set, but
particularly on his brother. His presence acted as a mildew on all
social intercourse or enjoyment; the game was marred, and ended ere
ever it was well begun. There were whisperings apart--the party
separated, and, in order to shake off the blighting influence of this
dogged persecutor, they entered sundry houses of their acquaintances,
with an understanding that they were to meet on the Links for a game at
cricket.

They did so; and, stripping off part of their clothes, they began that
violent and spirited game. They had not played five minutes till
Wringhim was stalking in the midst of them, and totally impeding the
play. A cry arose from all corners of: "Oh, this will never do. Kick
him out of the play-ground! Knock down the scoundrel; or bind him, and
let him lie in peace."

"By no means," cried George. "It is evident he wants nothing else. Pray
do not humour him so much as to touch him with either foot or finger."
Then, turning to a friend, he said in a whisper: "Speak to him, Gordon;
he surely will not refuse to let us have the ground to ourselves, if
you request it of him."

Gordon went up to him, and requested of him, civilly, but ardently, "to
retire to a certain distance, else none of them could or would be
answerable, however sore he might be hurt."

He turned disdainfully on his heel, uttered a kind of pulpit hem! and
then added, "I will take my chance of that; hurt me, any of you, at
your peril."

The young gentlemen smiled, through spite and disdain of the dogged
animal. Gordon followed him up, and tried to remonstrate with him; but
he let him know that "it was his pleasure to be there at that time;
and, unless he could demonstrate to him what superior right he and his
party had to that ground, in preference to him, and to the exclusion of
all others, he was determined to assert his right, and the rights of
his fellow-citizens, by keeping possession of whatsoever part of that
common field he chose."

"You are no gentleman, Sir," said Gordon.

"Are you one, Sir?" said the other.

"Yes, Sir. I will let you know that I am, by G--!"

"Then, thanks be to Him whose name you have profaned, I am none, If one
of the party be a gentleman, I do hope in God am not!"

It was now apparent to them all that he was courting obloquy and manual
chastisement from their hands, if by any means he could provoke them
to the deed; and, apprehensive that he had some sinister and deep-laid
design in hunting after such a singular favour, they wisely restrained
one another from inflicting the punishment that each of them yearned to
bestow, personally, and which he so well deserved.

But the unpopularity of the younger George Colwan could no longer be
concealed from his associates. It was manifested wherever the populace
were assembled; and his young and intimate friend, Adam Gordon, was
obliged to warn him of the circumstance that he might not be surprised
at the gentlemen of their acquaintance withdrawing themselves from his
society, as they could not be seen with him without being insulted.
George thanked him; and it was agreed between them that the former
should keep himself retired during the daytime while he remained in
Edinburgh, and that at night they should meet together, along with such
of their companions as were disengaged.

George found it every day more and more necessary to adhere to this
system of seclusion; for it was not alone the hisses of the boys and
populace that pursued him--a fiend of more malignant aspect was ever at
his elbow, in the form of his brother. To whatever place of amusement
he betook himself, and however well he concealed his intentions of
going there from all flesh living, there was his brother Wringhim also,
and always within a few yards of him, generally about the same
distance, and ever and anon darting looks at him that chilled his very
soul. They were looks that cannot be described; but they were felt
piercing to the bosom's deepest core. They affected even the onlookers
in a very particular manner, for all whose eyes caught a glimpse of
these hideous glances followed them to the object towards which they
were darted: the gentlemanly and mild demeanour of that object
generally calmed their startled apprehensions; for no one ever yet
noted the glances of the young man's eye, in the black coat, at the
face of his brother, who did not at first manifest strong symptoms of
alarm.

George became utterly confounded; not only at the import of this
persecution, but how in the world it came to pass that this
unaccountable being knew all his motions, and every intention of his
heart, as it were intuitively. On consulting his own previous feelings
and resolutions, he found that the circumstances of his going to such
and such a place were often the most casual incidents in nature--the
caprice of a moment had carried him there, and yet he had never sat or
stood many minutes till there was the selfsame being, always in the
same position with regard to himself, as regularly as the shadow is
cast from the substance, or the ray of light from the opposing denser
medium.

For instance, he remembered one day of setting out with the intention
of going to attend divine worship in the High Church, and when, within
a short space of its door, he was overtaken by young Kilpatrick of
Closeburn, who was bound to the Grey-Friars to see his sweetheart, as
he said: "and if you will go with me, Colwan," said he, "I will let you
see her too, and then you will be just as far forward as I am."

George assented at once, and went; and, after taking his seat, he
leaned his head forwards on the pew to repeat over to himself a short
ejaculatory prayer, as had always been his custom on entering the house
of God. When he had done, he lifted his eye naturally towards that
point on his right hand where the fierce apparition of his brother had
been wont to meet his view: there he was, in the same habit, form,
demeanour, and precise point of distance, as usual! George again laid
down his head, and his mind was so astounded that he had nearly fallen
into a swoon. He tried shortly after to muster up courage to look at
the speaker, at the congregation, and at Captain Kilpatrick's
sweetheart in particular; but the fiendish glances of the young man in
the black clothes were too appalling to be withstood--his eye caught
them whether he was looking that way or not: at length his courage was
fairly mastered, and he was obliged to look down during the remainder
of the service.

By night or by day it was the same. In the gallery of the Parliament
House, in the boxes of the play-house, in the church, in the assembly,
in the streets, suburbs, and the fields; and every day, and every hour,
from the first rencounter of the two, the attendance became more and
more constant, more inexplicable, and altogether more alarming and
insufferable, until at last George was fairly driven from society, and
forced to spend his days in his and his father's lodgings with closed
doors. Even there, he was constantly harassed with the idea that, the
next time he lifted his eyes, he would to a certainty see that face,
the most repulsive to all his feelings of aught the earth contained.
The attendance of that brother was now become like the attendance of a
demon on some devoted being that had sold himself to destruction; his
approaches as undiscerned, and his looks as fraught with hideous
malignity. It was seldom that he saw him either following him in the
streets, or entering any house or church after him; he only appeared in
his place, George wist not how, or whence; and, having sped so ill in
his first friendly approaches, he had never spoken to his equivocal
attendant a second time.

It came at length into George's head, as he was pondering, by himself,
on the circumstances of this extraordinary attendance, that perhaps his
brother had relented, and, though of so sullen and unaccommodating a
temper that he would not acknowledge it, or beg a reconciliation, it
might be for that very purpose that he followed his steps night and day
in that extraordinary manner. "I cannot for my life see for what other
purpose it can be," thought he. "He never offers to attempt my life;
nor dares he, if he had the inclination; therefore, although his manner
is peculiarly repulsive to me, I shall not have my mind burdened with
the reflection that my own mother's son yearned for a reconciliation
with me and was repulsed by my haughty and insolent behaviour. The next
time he comes to my hand, I am resolved that I will accost him as one
brother ought to address another, whatever it may cost me; and, if I am
still flouted with disdain, then shall the blame rest with him."

After this generous resolution, it was a good while before his
gratuitous attendant appeared at his side again; and George began to
think that his visits were discontinued. The hope was a relief that
could not be calculated; but still George had a feeling that it was too
supreme to last. His enemy had been too pertinacious to abandon his
design, whatever it was. He, however, began to indulge in a little more
liberty, and for several days he enjoyed it with impunity.

George was, from infancy, of a stirring active disposition and could
not endure confinement; and, having been of late much restrained in his
youthful exercises by this singular persecutor, he grew uneasy under
such restraint, and, one morning, chancing to awaken very early, he
arose to make an excursion to the top of Arthur's Seat, to breathe the
breeze of the dawning, and see the sun arise out of the eastern ocean.
The morning was calm and serene; and as he walked down the south back
of the Canongate, towards the Palace, the haze was so close around him
that he could not see the houses on the opposite side of the way. As he
passed the Lord-Commissioner's house, the guards were in attendance,
who cautioned him not to go by the Palace, as all the gates would be
shut and guarded for an hour to come, on which he went by the back of
St. Anthony's gardens, and found his way into that little romantic
glade adjoining to the saint's chapel and well. He was still involved
in a blue haze, like a dense smoke, but yet in the midst of it the
respiration was the most refreshing and delicious. The grass and the
flowers were loaden with dew; and, on taking off his hat to wipe his
forehead, he perceived that the black glossy fur of which his chaperon
was wrought was all covered with a tissue of the most delicate
silver--a fairy web, composed of little spheres, so minute that no eye
could discern any of them; yet there they were shining in lovely
millions. Afraid of defacing so beautiful and so delicate a garnish, he
replaced his hat with the greatest caution, and went on his way light
of heart.

As he approached the swire at the head of the dell--that little
delightful verge from which in one moment the eastern limits and shores
of Lothian arise on the view--as he approached it, I say, and a little
space from the height, he beheld, to his astonishment, a bright halo in
the cloud of haze, that rose in a semicircle over his head like a pale
rainbow. He was struck motionless at the view of the lovely vision; for
it so chanced that he had never seen the same appearance before, though
common at early morn. But he soon perceived the cause of the
phenomenon, and that it proceeded from the rays of the sun from a pure
unclouded morning sky striking upon this dense vapour which refracted
them. But, the better all the works of nature are understood, the more
they will be ever admired. That was a scene that would have entranced
the man of science with delight, but which the uninitiated and sordid
man would have regarded less than the mole rearing up his hill in
silence and in darkness.

George did admire this halo of glory, which still grew wider, and less
defined, as he approached the surface, of the cloud. But, to his utter
amazement and supreme delight, he found, on reaching the top of
Arthur's Seat, that this sublunary rainbow, this terrestrial glory, was
spread in its most vivid hues beneath his feet. Still he could not
perceive the body of the sun, although the light behind him was
dazzling; but the cloud of haze lying dense in that deep dell that
separates the hill from the rocks of Salisbury, and the dull shadow of
the hill mingling with that cloud made the dell a pit of darkness. On
that shadowy cloud was the lovely rainbow formed, spreading itself on a
horizontal plain, and having a slight and brilliant shade of all the
colours of the heavenly bow, but all of them paler and less defined.
But this terrestrial phenomenon of the early morn cannot be better
delineated than by the name given of it by the shepherd boys, "The
little wee ghost of the rainbow."

Such was the description of the morning, and the wild shades of the
hill, that George gave to his father and Mr. Adam Gordon that same day
on which he had witnessed them; and it is necessary that the reader
should comprehend something of their nature to understand what follows.

He seated himself on the pinnacle of the rocky precipice, a little
within the top of the hill to the westward, and, with a light and
buoyant heart, viewed the beauties of the morning, and inhaled its
salubrious breeze. "Here," thought he, "I can converse with nature
without disturbance, and without being intruded on by any appalling or
obnoxious visitor." The idea of his brother's dark and malevolent looks
coming at that moment across his mind, he turned his eyes instinctively
to the right, to the point where that unwelcome guest was wont to make
his appearance. Gracious Heaven! What an apparition was there presented
to his view! He saw, delineated in the cloud, the shoulders, arms, and
features of a human being of the most dreadful aspect. The face was the
face of his brother, but dilated to twenty times the natural size. Its
dark eyes gleamed on him through the mist, while every furrow of its
hideous brow frowned deep as the ravines on the brow of the hill.
George started, and his hair stood up in bristles as he gazed on this
horrible monster. He saw every feature and every line of the face
distinctly as it gazed on him with an intensity that was hardly
brookable. Its eyes were fixed on him, in the same manner as those of
some carnivorous animal fixed on its prey; and yet there was fear and
trembling in these unearthly features, as plainly depicted as murderous
malice. The giant apparition seemed sometimes to be cowering down as in
terror, so that nothing but his brow and eyes were seen; still these
never turned one moment from their object--again it rose imperceptively
up, and began to approach with great caution; and, as it neared, the
dimensions of its form lessened, still continuing, however, far above
the natural size.

George conceived it to be a spirit. He could conceive it to be nothing
else; and he took it for some horrid demon by which he was haunted,
that had assumed the features of his brother in every lineament, but,
in taking on itself the human form, had miscalculated dreadfully on the
size, and presented itself thus to him in a blown-up, dilated frame of
embodied air, exhaled from the caverns of death or the regions of
devouring fire. He was further confirmed in the belief that it was a
malignant spirit on perceiving that it approached him across the front
of a precipice, where there was not footing for thing of mortal frame.
Still, what with terror and astonishment, he continued riveted to the
spot, till it approached, as he deemed, to within two yards of him; and
then, perceiving that it was setting itself to make a violent spring on
him, he started to his feet and fled distractedly in the opposite
direction, keeping his eye cast behind him lest he had been seized in
that dangerous place. But the very first bolt that he made in his
flight he came in contact with a real body of flesh and blood, and that
with such violence that both went down among some scragged rocks, and
George rolled over the other. The being called out "Murder"; and,
rising, fled precipitately. George then perceived that it was his
brother; and being confounded between the shadow and the substance, he
knew not what he was doing or what he had done; and, there being only
one natural way of retreat from the brink of the rock, he likewise
arose and pursued the affrighted culprit with all his speed towards the
top of the hill. Wringhim was braying out, "Murder! murder!" at which
George, being disgusted, and his spirits all in a ferment from some
hurried idea of intended harm, the moment he came up with the craven he
seized him rudely by the shoulder, and clapped his hand on his mouth.
"Murder, you beast!" said he; "what do you mean by roaring out murder
in that way? Who the devil is murdering you, or offering to murder you?"

Wringhim forced his mouth from under his brother's hand, and roared
with redoubled energy: "Eh! Egh! Murder! murder!" etc. George had felt
resolute to put down this shocking alarm, lest someone might hear it
and fly to the spot, or draw inferences widely different from the
truth; and, perceiving the terror of this elect youth to be so great
that expostulation was vain, he seized him by the mouth and nose with
his left hand so strenuously that he sank his fingers into his cheeks.
But, the poltroon still attempting to bray out, George gave him such a
stunning blow with his fist on the left temple that he crumbled, as it
were, to the ground, but more from the effects of terror than those of
the blow. His nose, however, again gushed out blood, a system of
defence which seemed as natural to him as that resorted to by the race
of stinkards. He then raised himself on his knees and hams, and raising
up his ghastly face, while the blood streamed over both ears, he
besought his life of his brother, in the most abject whining manner,
gaping and blubbering most piteously.

"Tell me then, Sir," said George, resolved to make the most of the
wretch's terror--"tell me for what purpose it is that you haunt my
steps? Tell me plainly, and instantly, else I will throw you from the
verge of that precipice."

"Oh, I will never do it again! I will never do it again! Spare my life,
dear, good brother! Spare my life! Sure I never did you any hurt."

"Swear to me, then, by the God that made you, that you will never
henceforth follow after me to torment me with your hellish threatening
looks; swear that you will never again come into my presence without
being invited. Will you take an oath to this effect?"

"Oh yes! I will, I will!"

"But this is not all: you must tell me for what purpose you sought me
out here this morning?"

"Oh, brother! For nothing but your good. I had nothing at heart but
your unspeakable profit, and great and endless good."

"So, then, you indeed knew that I was here?"

"I was told so by a friend, but I did not believe him; a--a--at least I
did not know that it was true till I saw you."

"Tell me this one thing, then, Robert, and all shall be forgotten and
forgiven. Who was that friend?"

"You do not know him."

"How then does he know me?"

"I cannot tell."

"Was he here present with you to-day?"

"Yes; he was not far distant. He came to this hill with me."

"Where then is he now?"

"I cannot tell."

"Then, wretch, confess that the devil was that friend who told you I
was here, and who came here with you. None else could possibly know of
my being here."

"Ah! how little you know of him! Would you argue that there is neither
man nor spirit endowed with so much foresight as to deduce natural
conclusions from previous actions and incidents but the devil? Alas,
brother! But why should I wonder at such abandoned notions and
principles? It was fore-ordained that you should cherish them, and that
they should be the ruin of your soul and body, before the world was
framed. Be assured of this, however, that I had no aim of seeking you
but your good!"

"Well, Robert, I will believe it. I am disposed to be hasty and
passionate: it is a fault in my nature; but I never meant, or wished
you evil; and God is my witness that I would as soon stretch out my
hand to my own life, or my father's, as to yours." At these words,
Wringhim uttered a hollow exulting laugh, put his hands in his pockets,
and withdrew a space to his accustomed distance. George continued: "And
now, once for all, I request that we may exchange forgiveness, and that
we may part and remain friends."

"Would such a thing be expedient, think you? Or consistent with the
glory of God? I doubt it."

"I can think of nothing that would be more so. Is it not consistent
with every precept of the Gospel? Come, brother, say that our
reconciliation is complete."

"Oh yes, certainly! I tell you, brother, according to the flesh: it is
just as complete as the lark's is with the adder, no more so, nor ever
can. Reconciled, forsooth! To what would I be reconciled?"

As he said this, he strode indignantly away. From the moment that he
heard his life was safe, he assumed his former insolence and revengeful
looks--and never were they more dreadful than on parting with his
brother that morning on the top of the hill. "Well, go thy way," said
George; "some would despise, but I pity thee. If thou art not a limb of
Satan, I never saw one."

The sun had now dispelled the vapours; and, the morning being lovely
beyond description, George sat himself down on the top of the hill, and
pondered deeply on the unaccountable incident that had befallen to him
that morning. He could in no-wise comprehend it; but, taking it with
other previous circumstances, he could not get quit of a conviction
that he was haunted by some evil genius in the shape of his brother, as
well as by that dark and mysterious wretch himself. In no other way
could he account for the apparition he saw that morning on the face of
the rock, nor for several sudden appearances of the same being, in
places where there was no possibility of any foreknowledge that he
himself was to be there, and as little that the same being, if he were
flesh and blood like other men, could always start up in the same
position with regard to him. He determined, therefore, on reaching
home, to relate all that had happened, from beginning to end, to his
father, asking his counsel and his assistance, although he knew full
well that his father was not the fittest man in the world to solve such
a problem. He was now involved in party politics, over head and ears;
and, moreover, he could never hear the names of either of the Wringhims
mentioned without getting into a quandary of disgust and anger; and all
that he would deign to say of them was, to call them by all the
opprobrious names he could invent.

It turned out as the young man from the first suggested: old Dalcastle
would listen to nothing concerning them with any patience. George
complained that his brother harassed him with his presence at all
times, and in all places. Old Dal asked why he did not kick the dog out
of his presence whenever he felt him disagreeable? George said he
seemed to have some demon for a familiar. Dal answered that he did not
wonder a bit at that, for the young spark was the third in a direct
line who had all been children of adultery; and it was well known that
all such were born half-deils themselves, and nothing was more likely
than that they should hold intercourse with their fellows. In the same
style did he sympathize with all his son's late sufferings and
perplexities.

In Mr. Adam Gordon, however, George found a friend who entered into all
his feelings, and had seen and known everything about the matter. He
tried to convince him that at all events there could be nothing
supernatural in the circumstances; and that the vision he had seen on
the rock, among the thick mist, was the shadow of his brother
approaching behind him. George could not swallow this, for he had seen
his own shadow on the cloud, and, instead of approaching to aught like
his own figure, he perceived nothing but a halo of glory round a point
of the cloud that was whither and purer than the rest. Gordon said, if
he would go with him to a mountain of his father's, which he named, in
Aberdeenshire, he would show him a giant spirit of the same dimensions,
any morning at the rising of the sun, provided he shone on that spot.